*Unfortunately I did not have my camera. I have no photos of this day. It was quite a unique day. Taghazout, Morocco
I did my surf experience with Surf Berbere.
This is what heaven looked like. Streaks of silver and gold flowed atop the smooth, rolling planes of the water. A grey, misty sky melted into the horizon of the ocean. Without gravity, there would be no way to tell which way is the sky and which way is the ocean. I wonder if I am dead. It doesn't seem that I am. But there is no way to be sure. By this time, my toes had lost feeling.
Propping my foot up onto the surfboard, I check whether my fourth toe is still attached to my foot. It is. I'm shivering. The sun has fully concealed itself behind the clouds. Moments earlier, light had been shining down in a dozen hazy little breaks. Dream-like spotlights danced across the surface of the ocean as far as the eye can see. Without the sun, the temperature drops at least four degrees. I'm not used to this. After heights, waves are my next biggest fear. Most times, I appreciate them from the warmth of the sand. Walking toward them with my ankle strapped to a piece of plastic twice my size is unnatural.
When there is no wave, I am surrounded by crisp, white foam that floats pervasively over the surface of the sea. I am numb to the chill of the water and to the strength of the waves. In between sets, I accepted peace as a euphoric mental calm.
The tide had pushed me too close to the breakwater. I am at least half of a kilometer away from where I first started. One more powerful, disgruntled wave and I would be surfing over sharp rocks. Attempts at altering my position are futile. I glide myself and my surfboard away eight steps. A wave forms. Mere moments later, it throws me ten steps back. Moving closer to shore helps very little. There, the wave not only heaves me toward the breakwater but the current also inhales me deep into the ocean. I am a pawn and the sea is playing with me.
The waves are strong today. He told us they would be. The swell had been rising over several days. Today was to be the roughest.
We should have known. Before we got here, we scouted the first point. On the beach, our guide's gaze was fixed on the surf for a full two minutes. Silently, he returned to the car. Onward we drove to the next location. Out of the car again, he surveyed the waves crashing onto shore. Even I knew that this spot would be impossible. On the third one, he didn't even bother getting out of the car.
He drove for nearly 15 minutes. We hadn't surfed this far from home base.
We pull up into a packed parking lot. It was more developed than any other point we had scouted in the last several days. Dirt lots, jagged rocks, boulder entry: that had been the theme.
The beach was vast and sloped gently toward the ocean. Surfboard overhead, with a few steps away from the van, the cement parking lot was forgotten. At the edge of the water, the cafes' noises were silenced. In the ocean, it was just me, my surfboard, and the silver and gold reflection of heaven.
I did my surf experience with Surf Berbere.
This is what heaven looked like. Streaks of silver and gold flowed atop the smooth, rolling planes of the water. A grey, misty sky melted into the horizon of the ocean. Without gravity, there would be no way to tell which way is the sky and which way is the ocean. I wonder if I am dead. It doesn't seem that I am. But there is no way to be sure. By this time, my toes had lost feeling.
Propping my foot up onto the surfboard, I check whether my fourth toe is still attached to my foot. It is. I'm shivering. The sun has fully concealed itself behind the clouds. Moments earlier, light had been shining down in a dozen hazy little breaks. Dream-like spotlights danced across the surface of the ocean as far as the eye can see. Without the sun, the temperature drops at least four degrees. I'm not used to this. After heights, waves are my next biggest fear. Most times, I appreciate them from the warmth of the sand. Walking toward them with my ankle strapped to a piece of plastic twice my size is unnatural.
When there is no wave, I am surrounded by crisp, white foam that floats pervasively over the surface of the sea. I am numb to the chill of the water and to the strength of the waves. In between sets, I accepted peace as a euphoric mental calm.
The tide had pushed me too close to the breakwater. I am at least half of a kilometer away from where I first started. One more powerful, disgruntled wave and I would be surfing over sharp rocks. Attempts at altering my position are futile. I glide myself and my surfboard away eight steps. A wave forms. Mere moments later, it throws me ten steps back. Moving closer to shore helps very little. There, the wave not only heaves me toward the breakwater but the current also inhales me deep into the ocean. I am a pawn and the sea is playing with me.
The waves are strong today. He told us they would be. The swell had been rising over several days. Today was to be the roughest.
We should have known. Before we got here, we scouted the first point. On the beach, our guide's gaze was fixed on the surf for a full two minutes. Silently, he returned to the car. Onward we drove to the next location. Out of the car again, he surveyed the waves crashing onto shore. Even I knew that this spot would be impossible. On the third one, he didn't even bother getting out of the car.
He drove for nearly 15 minutes. We hadn't surfed this far from home base.
We pull up into a packed parking lot. It was more developed than any other point we had scouted in the last several days. Dirt lots, jagged rocks, boulder entry: that had been the theme.
The beach was vast and sloped gently toward the ocean. Surfboard overhead, with a few steps away from the van, the cement parking lot was forgotten. At the edge of the water, the cafes' noises were silenced. In the ocean, it was just me, my surfboard, and the silver and gold reflection of heaven.
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